I was just arranging how Abi could subtly take a photo of me with Catherine Deneuve when the director appeared again, holding a small piece of paper.
Would I mind saying a few words with Catherine?
He handed me the piece of paper. It had a few lines of script on it.
I looked at Abi. Abi looked at me. Lines. OK, it was only four lines, but, dear reader, in French! My heart stopped beating and I turned into an ice cube.
Catherine DENEUVE (à Jennifer SAUNDERS): Absolument prophétique!
Jennifer SAUNDERS (à Catherine DENEUVE): Littéralement fabuleux!
Catherine DENEUVE et Jennifer SAUNDERS (en choeur): Absolument fabuleux!
Patricia font un scandale et volent le sac aquarium.
Jennifer SAUNDERS: Je vais me réveiller, elles vont disparaître …
Catherine DENEUVE: Vous les connaissez?
Jennifer SAUNDERS: On a été présentée.
There are some fairly complicated words in there, I’m sure you’ll agree, dear reader. Some words with accents and one especially nasty word with a hat on.
Abi quickly became a CD for practice purposes, and we tried the lines again and again. But I couldn’t get them! And, if I tried them with the accent, I simply brought up phlegm.
Suddenly I was called on to set.
‘But … I … haven’t really … had enough … time.’
On set I was introduced to Josiane Balasko and Nathalie Baye, who were playing Eddie and Patsy. They both looked hilarious and we talked a little, I think. I can’t really remember because all I could think about was the lines. The only thing we had done all morning was wait, and now time was going too quickly.
I spotted Deneuve sitting in the director’s chair at the side of the set. She was immaculate and stately, cigarette in one hand, espresso in the other. Gay satellites circled her, replenishing cigarettes or coffee and attending to the hair, which was a magnificent hair-sprayed helmet of a do.
I thought about all the films she had made in her lifetime. Deneuve. The face that, by doing nothing, says everything. The actors she had worked with. Delon. Mastroianni. The directors. Buñuel, for God’s sake!
And now she was going to have to say a few lines with a fool.
Finally, I was introduced. She was, of course, perfectly charming and funny, and spoke flawless English. I attempted conversation as we were taken to our seats on the set. I made the decision not to look at her as we said the lines, just in case mucus came out. I really didn’t know what was going to come out of my mouth when the time arrived.
That time arrived all too soon.
The lights came up on the catwalk, and the models walked down through water and a heavy rain effect. It was beautiful.
Action!
French Eddie and Patsy storm the stage and the camera comes round and pans across the crowd to Catherine and me. We start the actin’ and the speakin’.
CATHERINE: Absolument prophétique!
MOI: Abberlabbermo fabberlo!
CATHERINE et MOI: Absolumenti fabbala dabbala!
MOI: Chervay moo revery san dispatchketchup.
CATHERINE: Vous les connaissez?
MOI: La plume de ma tante.
AND CUT!
MOI: How do you think that went?
CATHERINE: I think we may have to go again.
And so we did. Again and again until finally I must have said it in a way that they thought they could do something with (or perhaps they had given up altogether). But by then it was getting late, and Abi was looking at her watch and then looking at me. We were in danger of missing the flight home. Even private jets have slots apparently and can’t just take off and land willy-nilly. We had to go. The fear of seeming rude to Ms Deneuve by rushing off was nothing compared to the terror of not making it back for the show and having to face Dawn.
We air-kissed and ‘au revoired’ ourselves into a small waiting car driven by a very young runner from the film, and were then hurtled through the streets of Paris at such speed that we both had visions of a certain famous crash in an underpass.
I will never understand why, on film and TV sets, it is often left to the runner to transport the actors about. These youngsters must have only just passed their test.*
Anyway, we made it on to the plane with seconds to spare. We flew back and, within an hour, I was in much more familiar territory.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We are French and Saunders!’
‘I’m Jennifer Saunders.’
‘And so am I!’
When the film of Absolument Fabuleux eventually came out, I was amazed to see the scene still in it. And with my voice. I think. I took a good deal of confidence from this.
Then, in 2005 …
‘Morning, love.’
‘Good morning, Maureen.’
‘Now, there’s a part in a French film come up.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s filming half here, half there, and you wouldn’t be needed the whole time. The part is an English woman.’
‘Right.’
‘Now, you would have to speak French.’
‘Well, I can do that. I speak French.’
‘I thought you did. So that’s a yes, is it?’
‘Yes.’
In my head this was going to be the perfect vehicle to break into the world of films. I could have a nice sideline going in European movies. I mean, if Kristin Scott Thomas can do it!
For this film, they were going to give me a dialogue coach and send me tapes of the script being read in French. Perfect.
It was called L’Entente Cordiale and starred Christian Clavier, a very funny man who speaks only a little English. And Daniel Auteuil, an extremely well-known French actor. I was told by Patrick, my make-up artist, that Christian is a ‘king’ in France and that both he and Daniel had been given the honour of being allowed to have holiday houses in Corsica. They are very particular in Corsica and apparently you have to be chosen, or you run the risk of having your house set on fire and being generally terrorized off the island. I fantasized that, if I ever got in trouble in Corsica, I could call on one of the two ‘kings’ to help me out.
Both men are quite small, so I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to look like a great big bear beside them. Heigh-ho.
The film was a comedy, and for the life of me I can’t remember the exact plot (if I ever knew it). But my character was an English woman who helped them along in the caper.
The whole crew was French, as were most of the actors, with a few English exceptions. Shelley Conn and Sanjeev Bhaskar both had parts. Shelley had to speak Hindi and French with a Hindi accent. She spoke neither, but pulled it off. Or, at least, I believed she pulled it off. It sounded like the right kind of noise to me.
We shot in various locations around London – from Mayfair to Tooting – and it all seemed jolly. Plenty of laughter and messing about. I mean, there were the odd moments when I had to repeat a line or I didn’t know when to come in with a line because they were speaking so fast in French that it was impossible to follow. It would suddenly just go very quiet and I would notice everyone looking at me before the director shouted, ‘Coupé!’ And there was the odd occasion when they would all be looking at me because they simply hadn’t understood what I had said, but then neither had I.
In Paris, we shot some scenes in the Jardin des Plantes, which is a garden with a sad zoo in it. I had a quick look at the reptile house and even the snakes looked sad.
I had been taught to play the cello – or at least fake it well – and I had to make serious woman-playing-cello faces. This was even harder than talking in French. Long strokes with the bow and a bit of wobbly hand on the bridge. Serious face, eyes closed, slight shaking of the head to denote impending ecstasy. This went on for a whole morning.
Thank God for lunch.
The great thing about French film sets is that they always break on time for lunch because the food cannot be kept waiting. The catering is a wonder to
behold compared with what I’m used to. Normally, there’s a truck and you all queue up in dribs and drabs to get a plate of something meaty or salady and a jam roly-poly with custard. You then take it to the ‘bus’, which is a double-decker adapted for the purpose, and eat it with the crew. Or you go back to your rabbit hutch if you want to be alone and have a quick nap afterwards.
In France, it is different. Everybody breaks at the same time and then eats together on laid-out tables. You are served a three-course meal, and wine and beer are available. Moderate drinking is in fact encouraged. The food is delicious and the whole affair is very civilized. Being allowed a modicum of alcohol doesn’t seem to slow down the afternoon at all; in fact, I would say it rather oiled the machine.
When my involvement in the film came to an end, I knew I would mostly miss the lunches.
I ‘completed my part’ in the middle of the countryside, about an hour from Paris. There was much kissing and giving of presents. I was unsure what accepted practice was, present-wise, so I just took a leaf out of Dawn’s book and gave big and plenty. Much more kissing ensued, and telling me I’d been fantastic and how much they were looking forward to seeing me again at the premiere and what a party we would have …
Months went by. Months and months. I heard nothing. No party invite arrived. Occasionally I would bump into Sanjeev in London.
‘Heard anything about that French film?’
‘No.’
‘It must be out soon.’
‘Yes. I would have thought so.’
‘Perhaps we have been cut out and they’re too embarrassed to tell us.’
We laughed.
A full year went by and eventually I googled the film. L’Entente Cordiale had been released and we had both been dubbed. They had been too embarrassed to invite us to the party. My voice had been replaced by a quite hard but precise French voice, and she had struggled to make the words match my movements. I might as well have just opened my mouth sporadically like a goldfish for the whole film. The effect would have been the same.
So that was it. Kristin Scott Thomas could breathe easy. I air-kissed my foreign film career goodbye.
ELEVEN
I am sitting in a cabana down by the sea in the south of France, in April 2004. It is a little striped tent in the grounds of the Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc. I am not alone. Sitting next to me is Rupert Everett and, opposite us, a nervous Japanese journalist.
It is a press junket and every journalist is allowed less than two minutes in the tent to ask their questions before a PR person comes in and tells them their time is up. They are then moved to another cabana, with another member of the cast. This one is talking way too slowly.
‘Hello, Mr Everett and Miss … [he looks at his notes in his shaking hand] … Saunders.’
‘Hello.’
‘How are you?’
‘We are very well.’
‘I want to tell you, we are big fan in Japan …’
PR: ‘I’m sorry, your time is up.’
Japanese man then shakily packs his notebook away, bows and is replaced by a Swedish one.
PR: ‘You have two minutes!’
It had begun with a call from Maureen a year earlier.
‘Hello, love.’
‘Hello, Maureen. Good morning!’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m very well, thank you. How was your holiday?’
‘Very nice.’
‘Were you throwing yourself down a mountain?’
‘No, golf. Couple of things, love. Would you please get round to sending me back the various contracts that you are still in possession of. Are you in possession of them?’
‘Er … not sure.’
‘I’ll send them to you again (small sigh). Now secondly. A voiceover for a cartoon.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a DreamWorks thing.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s the follow-on from the Shrek one. Did you see that?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.’
‘The other cast are Antonio Banderas, Eddie Murphy –’
‘Yes.’
‘Mike Myers, Cameron Diaz –’
‘Yes.’
‘Julie Andrews, Rupert Everett, John Cleese –’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you have any interest, love?’
‘Yes. Yes, I would like to do it.’
‘Fine. So that’s a yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘It would require you to sing.’
‘I can sing.’
‘Yes, I thought you could. I’ll let the various folk know.’
Back in the cabana, the Swedish journalist takes too long to get her notebook out of her bag.
‘So, what was it like working together?’
PR: ‘I’m sorry, your time is up!’
We shouted after her as an Italian took her place, ‘We didn’t actually work together!’
And that was the truth. In the whole of the Shrek process, I was never in a studio with any other actors.
The director was Andrew Adamson, a gently spoken New Zealander with long, blond hair. He was a fan of French and Saunders and Ab Fab, which was how I had come to be considered for the part.
In the first meeting, he had shown me the initial artwork for the Fairy Godmother. It wasn’t quite how I had imagined she would be, based on my own physicality. She appeared to be quite short and dumpy and rather old. Heigh-ho.
It was from these drawings and the bits of script that I had to find a voice for her. Which, as it turned out, was basically my own voice, with a bit of Joan Collins thrown in for good measure. I really only have two voices that I can do well: Sandi Toksvig and Joan Collins. I can do Felicity Kendal at a push.
Sometimes, when I do a part, I have no idea what the voice is going to be until the director says, ‘Action!’ I genuinely have no clue what will come out of my mouth. And, once you’ve started with a voice, you then have to remember it for the whole show.
But then I’m not technically trained, you see. I’m sure real actresses have a much better method.
In The Hunt for Tony Blair, one of the final Comic Strip films, which we made in 2011, Peter Richardson asked me to play Margaret Thatcher. OK, I can do that. Then he said, ‘But it’s film noir and set in the 1940s, so, actually, Maggie is based on Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, although I want her to look like Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’ This is Pete’s bonkers-ness, and also his genius.
I was flummoxed. John Sessions was in a scene with me and I practised a bit with him before shooting. John, who is an expert at all voices and impersonations, looked at me and said, ‘Drop the regressive “r”.’ I now had nothing.
On ‘Action!’ I really thought this was going to be the moment I was found out. I have spent my entire career waiting for the tap on the shoulder.
How has she got away with it for so many years?
Why, she’s no good at all!
Fingers would point. Laughter. Cruel laughter.
Gotcha!
But luck was on my side. What came out of my mouth was deemed satisfactory and I got away with it. All I had to do was try to remember the voice from scene to scene.
The Fairy Godmother was altogether simpler. Andrew would read in all the other parts and hold up pictures. Until I eventually saw the finished film, all I could imagine was the other characters speaking in a soft New Zealand accent.
The recording was done in lots of separate stages. The script would change as the animation was built up. But in all of these stages it was only ever Andrew and me. I never met any of the other actors until Cannes.
Often, in a recording session, Andrew would ask me to be more animated as I said my lines. But surely I’m just the voice? Not quite. The whole thing was being recorded on film, so that the animators could add my physicality to the character’s movements.
In the final session I realized, to my horror, that the Fairy Godmother explodes. Explodes! I know that she was th
e baddy, but this did seem a bit harsh. It seriously reduced my character’s hope of appearing in any future films. This didn’t seem fair at all. Why would she explode? Couldn’t she just limp off or repent?
I made them record the line ‘I’ll be back!’ just before she popped, but it was never used. This was always going to be a one-off.
In the cabana, I thank God that I’m sharing it with Rupert. At least we can have a good laugh. I have known him, on and off, since college. He went there to train to be an actor, and I remember him looking languid in the coffee bar and generally refusing to take anything seriously until he was expelled. Rupert always looks as if he has just thought of the wickedest thing to say and is about to spill the beans. Which he often is.
We get a break occasionally and have a look around the other tents. Julie Andrews is being lovely and gracious in her slightly larger cabana. Rupert shouts in, ‘I hope you’re asking her how she got here. She travels by umbrella you know!’
Eddie Murphy seems to have the biggest tent and is surrounded by an enormous entourage of agents, family, security, PRs and children. I saw him arrive. A convoy of people all trying to organize other people, who are trying to be important and organize the organizers. And there are some people who don’t seem to know why they are there at all. They may have just got swept up in the crowd at the airport and found themselves there by accident.
I arrived at the Eden-Roc with nobody and immediately regretted it. I had a beautiful room with a balcony set over the rocks, and a view of nothing but sea. As soon as I saw it, I thought, What an idiot! This was going to be amazing and I had no one to share it with. I called Ade and said he had to come immediately. But he was busy, so I told Ella, who was just sixteen, to get on a plane, and she did.
Sometimes you need someone to walk around staring at people with. Plus, the fact that she was sixteen gave me a great excuse to walk up to actors I’d never met before in my life and tell them that she was their biggest fan.
I mean, Jack Black was there. And Cameron Diaz, with Justin Timberlake as her date. What’s not to stare at? Melanie Griffith, Angelina Jolie. HELLO?
It was all a glamorous fantasy.
Out of my window, I would spot the occasional paparazzo scuttling like a crab across the rocks, trying to get pics of the stars. Long lenses were trained on the swimming pool in the hope of catchin’ a famous pair of breasts. Mine, it turned out, were of no interest at all. I could have walked totally naked on to the balcony and shooken me booty, but all lenses would have remained pointing at the pool in the hope of catchin’ Jennifer Aniston in a bikini.
Bonkers: My Life in Laughs Page 15
